pleasefindthis's Blog: Written On The Side Of The Page , page 13

The World Will End On A Pleasant Day

You will be wondering why no one picked up the paper next to the bin, when the missile breaks through the atmosphere, and whines through the air on its way down.

You will be swimming with friends when the Earth rips itself open to show the stars its beating heart.

You will be returning something at the store when the men in lab coats make a terrible mistake with a deadly virus.

You will be looking into the eyes of someone you love and you will marvel at how the simple act of looking at them makes you happy and so when the world ends, you will be ok with it ending.

The Remaining You

Someone knows the you that goes to bed early because you can’t talk.

Or the you that doesn’t stop talking when they’re excited.

I’m sure someone knows the you that stays up late because your head is too busy, no matter what you tell it to settle down.

There must be many, who know the you that you wish other people thought you were. And more that know the you that other people actually think you are.

And perhaps a few know you, at least, know the you that you think you are.

But only I know the you that’s left, when the rest of you has gone away.

The Fearful Planet

Here’s the thing you need to remember: People talk about what they fear.

They’re afraid you think that they don’t make enough money, so they talk about expensive things they’ve bought or want to buy.

They’re afraid you think they’re uncultured, so they talk about where they’ve travelled or show you pictures of the places they’ve been or want to go, or obscure books they’ve read, movies they’ve seen or music they listen to. The important thing here is not that -they- enjoy it, but that -they- know about it and -you- don’t.

They’re afraid, and so they roll their eyes at the simple things that make other people happy.

They’re afraid of what people think of them and so they’re afraid of who they’re seen talking to.

They’re afraid you think they’re out of touch and so they absolutely must talk about every new thing they find, as soon as possible.

They’re afraid you think they haven’t accomplished anything, so they talk about what they’re busy with in detail, every chance they get.

They’re afraid you think they’re ugly and that their life is a mess, so they show you as many photos of themselves looking calm and beautiful as they can.

These are not the actions of brave people.

These are the things you do, when you’re afraid.

Somehow Real

Because of you, this book became real and available out in the world. You're amazing and sincerely appreciated for your support because without it, nothing I do would be real. The universe which made you as wonderful as you are, and me, love you. I hope you know that.

P.S. - if you were lucky enough to get a free copy last year, please take the time to leave a review on amazon.

The Atoms On The Edge

They asked me to point to where it hurt, and so I pointed at you.

The Day You Stood On Your Own Shoulders

You are not empty.

There has to be a part of you left, even if it's just the part that says, "I am empty."

Stand on top of that part of yourself and reach up. Reach out.

Because you are not empty.

The Gentlest Reminders Dropped From Passing Planes

You were not put here to impress others, to be better than others or to beat others at all costs.

You were not put here to compare yourself to others and your success is not dependent on someone else's failure.

You were not put here to put others in their place, to teach them a lesson or lecture them about who they are. You can and should help others but don't treat others like they're broken just because they're not who you think they should be - You were not put here to fix others.

You were not put here to rise above others. You are unique but not special and that's not a bad thing because it means all of us can achieve some kind of greatness.

You were not put here to be against others.

You were put here with others.

The Notes Before Now

The Longest Distance To Others

The Counterpoint